Secrets Held
by missMich
Summary: Continuation of 'The Garden'. Hermione keeps watch over a comatose potions master. May contain spoilers, adult themes, WIP. SSHG
1. Infirmary

Disclaimer: JK Rowing owns these people along with various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author's note- This story is a continuation of 'The Garden', and though you might be able to keep up without reading that first, it will be easier to follow if you have. For those who have been waiting for this story, I warn you, the darkness of the garden does not carry into this tale... much. Fans of linear story-telling will be exasperated with me, and to make matters worse this is being posted as a work-in-progress. Eight chapters are written, and I will do my best to post once a week. Some *spoilers* may occur. Adult themes likely to occur, a HG/SS fic. So we begin, nearly where we left off...  
  
Secrets held and secrets saved, Secrets delved by lovers brave.  
  
Secrets kept and secrets shared, Secrets stroked with lovers' care.  
  
Secrets etched cross lovers face, Secrets spilled in loves embrace.  
  
Tiny frightened secrets deep, Lovers shared will secrets keep...  
  
~~~@@@~~~  
  
Infirmary  
  
Poppy Pomfrey opened the door to a small room in her infirmary quietly. A familiar sight greeted her. Her patient these last few weeks, Severus Snape, lay sleeping on the small bed. He was dressed in carefully pressed black pyjamas. His black hair was groomed and smoothed close to his pale face. Pulled close to his bed was a worn, overstuffed armchair, upon which Hermione Granger was seated. She was asleep, her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm curled around her bare ankles, her other arm draped over the side of the chair, her fingertips resting on his arm.  
  
As often as Poppy had seen this tableau, however, it never failed to amaze her. Not that Hermione was there; she had been there every day for the three weeks he'd been in Poppy's care at Hogwarts. Before that, she had haunted his bedside at St. Mungo's hospital. When their research into his failure to wake up yielded no answers, it was decided that he be moved here, and Poppy had firmly agreed that he would want just that. No, what amazed her was the woman's appearance.  
  
You see, Miss Granger had been a bushy-haired brunette possessed of lovely brown eyes and peach coloured skin during her years at school. The young woman now curled in the bedside chair had raven hair that hung in sleek waves, ending in perfect curls at her waist. It now covered part of her face, but showed enough of her creamy white skin to notice the difference. And when she awoke, looking up as the mediwitch covered her in a light blanket, she opened wide jet-black eyes.  
  
"Now Miss Hermione, it won't help any catching a chill. If you won't go back to your room to sleep, at least remember to ask me for a blanket," Poppy admonished her. "Care to join me for a little late-supper then?"  
  
"That sounds lovely, Poppy. Just give me a moment, please," she replied. Yawning a bit, she stretched out her legs before turning to the still face of the man on the bed. "Severus, I'll only be gone a short while. We'll be right in the other room, if you need anything," she said in an even voice, touching his arm gently as she spoke. The fact that he had been in this coma for nearly two months seemed not to deter her in the least, and she spoke to him exactly as if he were wide-awake.  
  
When they reached the outer room, Hermione found not only a table loaded with sandwiches and pumpkin juice, but Albus Dumbledore and Minerva Mcgonagall already sitting at it. "Ah Miss Granger, so glad you could join us tonight," he beamed, throwing Poppy a wink. "And how is our patient?" he asked as she seated herself across from him.  
  
"The same, sir. He does seem to be stubborn, doesn't he?" she answered. Once or twice a day he asked this same question, never once betraying his growing concern. The young man was quite important to Dumbledore, and the longer he remained asleep, the more Albus feared he might not wake again.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Albus had been involved in the research into the spell that had caused  
all of this. The protection spell, apparently drawing on both  
Hermione's and Severus' magic, had saved both their lives but at great  
cost. He had barely survived, and had not spoken or opened his eyes  
since a few hours after their rescue. She had fared better physically,  
the charm healing nearly all her wounds and restoring her health. But  
she refused to leave his side. She had taken on some of his  
personality traits, along with the obvious physical ones. Her mind  
seemed whole, but her spirit seemed to fade whenever she was removed  
from him for more than a few hours.  
  
Dumbledore had been there the first time she had tried. After a week  
in St. Mungo's without change, she had been convinced to help the  
wizards charged with trying to figure out just what had happened and  
how to fix things. It required that she spend a few nights away from  
the hospital. When she returned, she was distraught, shaky and quite  
fierce looking. The headmaster had never seen her look quite so...  
dangerous. It seemed that whatever had bound them during the spell  
remained securely in place.  
  
It was then that she confessed the link they had shared during those  
few days in the dungeon. She broke down in his lap and cried until she  
fell asleep. When she awoke, he suggested they come back to the castle  
with him, and that when she felt more up to it she could explain just  
how deep the legilamency had gone. She left out some of the more  
private moments, and all the details, but eventually Albus got the  
idea of what had happened. And that is exactly what concerned him so.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
He was startled back to the supper at hand by Professor McGonagall's second attempt to tell him, "I said George Weasley will be joining us tomorrow, Albus. For a few days it seems. Having a birthday party, or some such thing, in Hogsmeade."  
  
"Splendid, Hermione, you will be attending, I trust? I'm sure a few hours, and its close enough... perhaps its time you got out a bit, had a laugh or two," he asked her, without a hint of question in his voice. It was clear he meant this as an order, he considered her to be a patient here, even if Poppy protested this fact.  
  
"I was already planning to, Prof... er, Albus," she corrected herself. Try as she might, she couldn't get used to calling her former headmaster by his given name. "George assures me that should I refuse, he and Fred will drag me out in scandalous fashion." She tried her best to sound exasperated at this, but couldn't help being amused.  
  
Her friends had tried their best to support her in the last two months, but only Fred and George were truly comfortable in her presence, despite Fred's annoying tendency to call her 'Snape' at every opportunity. Fact was, George was her saving grace, drawing her out of her role as bedside guardian and into some semblance of normal life again. He was guilt ridden over her capture at first. But he overcame it due in no small part to the shock of finding her that night, looking very much like the angel that Snape was convinced she was. During her stay at Hogwarts he had visited for a few days every week, becoming her constant companion whenever he did. She found herself looking forward to the party. 


	2. Serenity before the storm

Serenity before the storm  
  
As she awoke once more curled up in the armchair, she began to shake off the disoriented feeling of falling asleep in one location and waking up... elsewhere. After supper she had gone to her rooms, but as always made her way back to his side in her sleep. She looked down on him once again, willing him to wake, to look at her, to stir a bit at least.  
  
"Wake up now, come out here, foolish man and speak to me. I'm not leaving until you do," she pleaded, her voice as clear and unconcerned as the first time she had said it, so very long ago. Far from tiring of her vigil, she found a certain satisfaction in living her life in an armchair near his sleeping form. A sort of serenity had found her, here in the sick ward of her former school. She relished the myriad daily rituals: feeding him, dressing him in fresh clothes, grooming his fingernails, washing his hair.  
  
It was this last routine that usually woke him to her presence, his lunatic mind winding his way into hers. She had long since forced herself to stop going to his mind, Dumbledore had forbidden it, convinced it kept him locked into himself. She had other ideas, but she would try things this way for a while. The problem was, of course, that if she ignored him for too long, he came looking for her.  
  
'Go back, darling. We can't be together this way anymore, I've told you that. Come out, into the real world with me. We are safe now, alive, both of us,' she told him, her hands busy with the task of shampooing his silky locks. Her fingers rubbed into his scalp delicately, the soap lathering up and covering her small pink hands. 'I promise I won't leave you. I need you, as you need me.'  
  
He laughed, a hearty rolling laugh. Not manic, or insane, but gentle and sexy and sweet. It didn't help her resolve any. 'My dear, all we have is here, in the garden, just you and I in the grass. All that remains out there is pain and darkness. I've seen it, my angel. Haunting me on the stretcher. My beautiful Hermione, there is nothing else for me now,' he thought in a firm reply, determined to get his way. She never answered him. Instead, she rinsed his hair, and left his bedside, calling for Poppy to return to help her dress him.  
  
"Finished already, dear? Tut tut, I'll take that basin, then. There, now isn't that better, all fresh and clean, Severus?" she asked the sleeping form. It had become her habit to speak to him as Hermione did, as if he were listening intently. As the two witches finished putting fresh clothes on him, Poppy thought again of the young man before her, one she had known for so many years. Such a brooding and angry boy he had been, the scars that covered his body nearly broke her heart sometimes, and sharing the burden of that secret with Hermione had made them fast friends. Sharing the burden of his care sealed the deal. This young woman was certainly a remarkable little thing.  
  
Hermione cared for him in a hundred different ways every day. Tedious, bothersome chores for a man who might never wake, or who might be raving mad when he did. Poppy knew him; he might be bitter and surly with her for her efforts, if he managed whole and sane. Perhaps, though, with time... Albus could be wrong, after all. It was rare, but known to happen. Whatever the future, she was glad to see the girl going out this evening. Time with the friends she saw so rarely, time for herself that she really should make more of a habit.  
  
"Poppy, would you come to my room later, help me dress?" Hermione asked as she buttoned his final button, smoothed the collar carefully, and stepped back to admire her work. He really did look peaceful, she thought. She knew he'd absolutely hate that. A giggle formed in her mouth and she struggled to quash it.  
  
"Of course, dear. Oh, company it seems. I'll leave you then. Hello George, good to see you again so soon," she said over her shoulder as a tall, muscular young redhead stepped into the room. He walked up and kissed Hermione firmly on the forehead with a chuckle.  
  
He did have a way of making an entrance. She repaid his chaste kiss with a hug, and waved her hand toward her usual chair. She finished fussing with Severus' blanket, smoothed his wet hair off his face and lowered herself stiffly into a chair beside him. He was jealous, the affection and easy grace of her treatment of Snape was clearly sensual. Her hug was clearly not.  
  
"So, ready for the bash, Hermione?" he asked. "Gonna be a pretty big one, I hear. First big Quidditch match after the war, you know."  
  
"I'm ready, if only I still fit into my dress now Poppy has determined to feed me every time she lays eyes on me. I swear, if I see one more sandwich in that anteroom of hers, I'll just scream," she answered, with a hint of something mischievous playing in her eyes.  
  
They spent a few minutes catching up the last few days, since his last visit. Or rather, he caught her up on the joke shop, doings with his brothers, and made one more stab at getting her to come to the match with him. She made polite conversation, but her face held an oddly blank appearance. He tried to keep conversation away from Harry and Ron, reckoning that might be the reason for her sudden reserve.  
  
She had become an obsession of his. She had dismissed his guilt with one wave of her hand, and with it captured his imagination forever. The vision of her as a glowing protective goddess still fresh in his mind, he had trouble remembering what she looked like all those years together at school. Now she was someone new, different in a truly exotic way. No one had ever transformed quite this way, under the same troubling circumstances, and he felt strongly bound to watch over her during her bedside vigil.  
  
As they went to her rooms for breakfast, he felt rewarded for his effort. Her laugh was clear and bright, bit like a pond full of sunshine. Her walk was a study in graceful motion, gliding through the hallways as a ghost might. He never for a moment wondered how Snape might've thought her one. He wondered why he himself didn't think she was. Her warm hand on his was one clue. The way his heart leapt to see her happy was another.  
  
She knew perfectly well how he felt about her, and for some reason felt compelled to let him take care of her. He had become her confidant and she had come to care about him almost as much as she had loved his brother once. She was afraid what that would mean for him, as she knew perfectly well she now belonged to another.  
  
Done with her busy work, Poppy returned to her only patient. "Help her dress, Severus, did you hear that? And you know WHY, don't you?" she questioned him crossly.  
  
The healing effected by the spell had left few injuries. One was a brand on her hip, the outline of a monogrammed ring. Another was not visible but internal. Across her lower back, the bones had been broken and the muscle ripped apart. She had been unable to fully heal the damage done to Hermione's back. The bones she had mended, and there was no danger of further impairment, but it left her in great pain to move about unsupported. A brace was required.  
  
Hermione had prevented her from healing the burn. Snape's own peculiarity glowering out from her slight face, it had nearly broken Poppy's heart. Oh, she knew perfectly well where THAT had come from. "All your doing, you sullen old fool. I know it is, somehow. And she begs me keep the secret, too, she does," she reproached him.  
  
Examining the girl just after her rescue, she had found the evidence of so many ills, and being the skilled healer she was she knew exactly what had caused most of them. She promised Hermione then that the story written on her body would remain between them. The burden of his secret had been bad enough. The pain of keeping Hermione's was enough to bring her to tears several times a day.  
  
"'Well, no use lamenting what can't be helped, is there?' she tells me. Imagine, her comforting ME, the poor dear," she cried, looking down once more. "I know where I've heard that before, oh yes," she accused the sleeping man.  
  
Albus had cautioned her to watch the young woman for signs of strain. He seemed to think it a good sign that none had surfaced in so long. Poppy knew it was in fact a very bad sign. She had also seen what could happen when the girl was removed from Severus for too long. She had her own suspicions about what caused it, and they were very different from Dumledore's. She and Hermione were of like mind about that, but he couldn't be dissuaded no matter how long the women worked at him.  
  
So instead, she kept her thoughts, and her secrets, to herself. With the school year approaching in just a matter of days, she should have had plenty to distract her. But she found it increasingly difficult to do so. More often than not, she spent her free time worrying over her solitary patient and his taciturn nurse. And they all had plenty of time and precious few answers. 


	3. Scars we bear

Scars we bear  
  
The rest of Hermione's day was spent in cheerful anticipation of a night out. She would be way from the castle for the first time since her arrival, and attend her first real social event since her rescue. She found herself smiling and laughing more than she had since her school days. She spent her visit with Severus chatting happily to him about the party, her fingers busy buffing his nails.  
  
Minerva Mcgonagall interrupted the manicure to inform her that her dress had arrived. "Hermione, its lovely. I took the liberty of ordering a little cape for you, in case its turns chilly later. They had such lovely plaids," she said, steering the younger witch down the halls to her room. Minerva had found a catalogue for witches that sold 'Muggle clothes'. Truth be told, they were wizarding versions.  
  
Arriving in her rooms, she found a pretty red silk dress hanging on the door. It looked a bit like a toga, sleeveless and flowing, gathered at the shoulder and the waist. It was cocktail length, for summer. She laughed, "well, not exactly Muggle, but its not dress robes, now is it?" The other partygoers were likely to stare at her anyway, at least now they'd have a reason, she thought to herself. She laid the dress on her bed.  
  
Getting ready was a simple process, a quick bath, spray of perfume, and then a little attention to her hair. Sitting in front of a mirror, she mused about her raven hair. The one alteration that unsettled people the most, the one she liked the best. Gone were the days of wrestling it into messy buns and breaking combs trying to tame thick brown curls. Now brushing it was a delight, reminded her strongly of brushing his hair. She quickly piled it atop her head in a loose knot, a few stray curls framing her face.  
  
There was a knock at her door. She called out, "ENTER!" and pulled a wisp of red cloth from her bureau. She removed her robe as Poppy entered to help her dress. Wrapping the cloth around her middle, Hermione handed two long laces to Poppy and then turned her back and leaned toward the bed.  
  
Madame Pomfrey had found a solution to the bulky and ugly back brace Hermione had worn at first. She found a number of pretty, old-fashioned corsets that suited the purpose nicely. Some of these the young girl was unable to get into without help. Including all the ones delicate enough to go unnoticed under a party dress.  
  
Poppy laced the cords carefully, trying not to cause any more pain than was necessary. Using magic was impossible; the one time they had tried it caused her to pass out from the sudden grip of the garment. So they practiced an art of generations ago, Hermione gripping the bedpost for support while Poppy drew the flat-ribbons of a fine red satin undergarment snug enough to hold her upright without effort. Tying them off, she tucked the bow into the laces.  
  
Hermione stepped into the dress; it was loose enough to hide the corset but flattering to her figure. Poppy helped her strap high-heeled black sandals to her feet. "Well, all that's left is the cape. I think I can manage that on my own. Thank you, Poppy," she stepped carefully around the room, trying the new shoes out.  
  
Poppy frowned slightly, "are you quite sure about those shoes, dear. They look hazardous if you ask me. And it's a long walk, you know." Not receiving an answer, she left her young friend to return to the infirmary, muttering about silly Muggle clothes under her breath.  
  
George arrived a moment later, as he had been waiting to be alone with her. She put on the short red plaid cape, fastened with a ruby brooch as he whistled his approval. "Gads, Hermione. If I'd known how shabby you were gonna make me look, I woulda rethought this a bit." He held out his arm gallantly, she took it and the two strode down the hall.  
  
They left the castle in high spirits, summer breezes playing at the couple on their walk. The gathering dusk hiding them slightly from others walking into Hogsmeade for the party. They talked about the match, who was likely to be at the party, and George had big news.  
  
"So, he's going to propose to Angelina tonight, in front of everyone. Mum's thrilled, said it was about time she gets to throw a wedding," he was telling her just as they arrived to find the streets crammed with young witches and wizards, some still sporting Quidditch colours or scarves. People had set up tables everywhere, some had even dragged them out of the Three Broomsticks, and Madame Rosemerta was taking orders outside.  
  
"Wow, George, I didn't think there would be so many here," she said, trying to look everywhere at once. There was music playing in several places, voices and laughter filled the air, and every so often sparks and fireworks sprayed down over the crowd. By the time they made their way down to the Weasleys' joke shop they had said a quick hello to many of her former classmates.  
  
"George, Hermione, over here! We staked out the whole front of the shop, squeeze in here, grab a drink," Angelina was shouting from the front door of the shop. She was wearing black dress robes and a bright Chudley Cannons scarf. "We are still waiting for Harry, but Ron's just got here, he's upstairs with Fred." She called up the stairs for them, handing Hermione a butterbeer.  
  
Tasting his, George remarked, "think my brother spiked this a bit. Should be an interesting night."  
  
"George, Snape, so glad you could join us!" Fred yelled, grabbing a handful of Angelina on his way over to them. Ron waved, and went outside without another word. "Little git, he IS happy to see you, really Hermione," Fred assured her.  
  
Fred's proposal was a curt, "suppose we ought to have a wedding, then, Angelina?" To which she replied, "don't see why not, George." George himself spit beer all down his robes, but Fred just kissed her, laughing. The next few hours were spent in spirited conversation of the day's game, drinking and watching the various displays outside.  
  
Midway through the evening, she began to feel strange. A slight disconnected feeling, as if she didn't really belong there anymore. She barely noticed when Ron and Harry left, and she and George ended up back outside the Three Broomsticks. It had become increasingly difficult to walk, so George had taken her shoes off for her, commenting that she was pissed. She agreed, and accused him of having had his fair share.  
  
The feeling of inebriation was mixed with something else, a growing sense of hunger and desire. Though she should have known better, she drowned the feeling with a few glasses of wine. In this state, a drunken George suggested they stay in town. She agreed, ignoring the hidden voice in her head whispering warnings against. She held her shoes in one hand, and George in the other.  
  
They stumbled into his room and crashed against the door. He was holding her firmly, dizzy with drink and possibilities. The feel of her against him and the alcohol in his brain combined to make resistance nearly impossible. When he hesitated, she threw him to the bed, landing on him in a heap of red silk and repressed lust. The first kiss was rough, an assault of his mouth as she bit into him. Sucking the breath from him, she explored the inside of his mouth with her tongue, stroking his face with her hands.  
  
He forced her up and held her at arms length, determined to put a stop to this. She had a wild look in her eyes, her hair fallen around her face. He began the protest pleading damage to their friendship, being too drunk to know what she wanted, any excuse that popped into his head until he didn't believe himself even.  
  
"Mine," she whispered. He got the sensation of heat seeping into his brain. Dulling his senses, draining his willpower, forcing him to give in to her. 'Shh, now, just give this to me, choose me, don't think...just feel,' he heard, a small erotic voice in his head. He began to feel drugged and sleepy. She looked radiant, bathed in passion and open for him, only him. "My chosen, protector, need this, you," she panted in between nibbling kisses. Somehow she had removed his clothes, but he couldn't recall it happening.  
  
Submitting he answered her demands ardently. He removed her dress, so soft he barely felt the fabric, handfuls of silky black hair, her skin burning his fingers. He stroked her body with longing, as she purred her consent. He noticed for the first time the mark, a small letter on her hip, just under the edge of the corset. 'Where he branded her, the one who took her first. Spoiled her as you will not!' a terrible voice screamed in his head. He sat up, drawing her into his arms, trying to regain sobriety to sort it all out.  
  
'MY ARMS WILL NOT TIRE...'the voice screamed again. Breaking his hold on her, he jumped from the bed in alarm. This time, he knew the voice, Snape's voice, and remembered the burning sensation in his fingers. Turning back to her, he caught his breath. She was kneeling in the bed, head down, gasping for air. She looked mad, anger and wanting blazing in her eyes. Dressing fast, he scrambled to get her back to the castle, to him, before... he shuddered to think. "It's okay, Hermione, we'll be there soon, Dumbledore will know what to do," he told her anxiously, carrying her in his strong arms at a dead run for Hogwarts.  
  
But she was no longer aware of George. Her mind was filled with darkness, with the song of water flowing. The waves of George's desire had unleashed the weeks of suppressed longing for the other half of her soul. And now, so far from his still form in the infirmary, her head was achingly full of him. Caressing her, seeping into her as warmth from a fire, willing her to return. 'No, not like this, not in here only,' she pleaded. 'Wake, or let me alone. You must, you promised, I'd be free you said. You must set me free, Severus. Free,'  
  
"Free," she whispered aloud. The only word she spoke until George laid her in her bed, Poppy running frantically behind him, pushing him away.  
  
"Dear dear child, what have you done," she quietly addressed the now unconscious Hermione. In only a few hours, she was in worse shape than any other time she had left his side. But all Hermione saw or heard was him, her soul. The dark and dangerous man that possessed her now. She begged and pleaded, demanded he return to her.  
  
'Come out, wake up, join me or I will leave forever. Run away, as far as my feet can carry, never to return. So far you cannot reach me here, never reach me again!' she flung at him finally. And then he was gone. She heard nothing but silence and Poppy's fussing, and sleep took her.  
  
When she awoke, she'd have thought it a dream but for the party dress and cape she still wore. Light streamed through the window, and she had woken up in her own bed for the first time in two months.  
  
"Looked right frightful she did, Albus. Lit up all pink, she was, and muttering 'wake up' over and over. Then she was calm, and slept the rest of the night," came a snatch of conversation from the hallway.  
  
Hermione got up and opened the door and Dumbledore bade her follow him. She knew where he was leading, and for the first time, she dreaded it. She felt a traitor going to face justice. 


	4. Gifts

Gifts  
  
Dumbledore kept silent the entire walk to the hospital wing. Hermione hung her head in shame, noticing she hadn't bothered about slippers and was padding about the cold halls in bare feet. Just inside the door, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall stood waiting for them.  
  
"Hermione, please have a seat," Albus began, motioning to a chair in Poppy's office. The other two witches filed in and sat down behind her. The headmaster sat at the desk, folding his hands under his chin and taking a deep breath before continuing. "George came in to see me, last night. I trust you remember what happened?" he asked.  
  
"Not all of it, really. But enough, I'm afraid," she answered.  
  
"I was hoping you were getting better, not worse dear. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. Your... attack is as much my fault as it is yours. Please forgive me, Hermione," he said in a weary voice.  
  
She was taken aback by his tone. Fully expecting to be reprimanded for her behaviour towards George, perhaps even for her 'conversation' with Severus, she didn't know how to respond to his apology. So, she snapped at him, "of course, forgiven. How could you know what being separated from Severus would do. I assume that you didn't know, of course." She left her words hanging as an accusation.  
  
"Unfortunately I had my suspicions, and I kept them from you. I had hoped that it was just a lingering effect of the spell, but it seems there were some permanent... manifestations that you are going to have to learn about," he answered. Hermione glared at him hotly, rising to her feet in her shock. "Please, hear me out. I've asked Minerva here to help you cope with what I'm about to tell you. I believe that your, legilamency, may have been a latent gift, and it flared into full power as a result of your ordeal. Actually, you seem to be a Compatior, a rare talent indeed, and this has complicated matters somewhat. Poppy tells me that she has also suspected you, and has already taken me to task for keeping my research from you."  
  
"Compatior? You mean telepathic by nature?" she asked him.  
  
"Not exactly. It means you can read others emotions, and project your own as well," he answered.  
  
Letting his words sink in, Hermione slumped back into her chair. Empathic? The very thought of it was at once ridiculous and utterly true, somehow. 'Permanent manifestations' began to sink in as well. Her physical appearance, the sense of quiet and tendency to be testy in defence of confusion, these would be permanent effects.  
  
She was full of questions, and had no idea where to begin. She hadn't taken the time to consider that these changes might be lasting, that she would have to cope with anything other than playing nursemaid to Severus and living her quiet life in the seclusion the school afforded her. Her anger began to subside in the face of this revelation. She asked quietly, "is George angry with me?"  
  
"Of course not, he's merely concerned about you Hermione," Minerva answered. She laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder reassuringly. "He has asked to see you, when you feel up to it, dear."  
  
"Not just now, I think. Minerva, could we be alone for a moment?" she asked, gesturing to Albus. "I'll come see you later, about all this."  
  
"Yes, certainly. Poppy?" Mcgonagall asked, motioning for the door. After they left, Hermione gathered herself for a moment. Her anger and guilt now gone, she was simply very tired. Her odd stiff posture belied the sensation of having fallen into the depths of the chair.  
  
"What does this mean? For me, and for him. If he never wakes, can I never leave? What else haven't you told me?" her questions ran together in one fairly venomous speech. Suspicion began to creep into her brain, that Dumbledore had known much more than he was telling for much longer than she cared to believe. "You know he came to me, Severus, all that distance and his mind reached me as if I were in the same room," she added, hoping he might have a suitable explanation.  
  
"I know he did, George heard him as well, though he thinks he imagined it. I'm not sure what this will mean, for either of you. I do know that the spell that was cast in the cell weeks ago has not finished. I don't think you should leave Hogwarts until we can be certain that it has," he paused for a moment, folding and unfolding his hands.  
  
"I had my suspicions in St. Mungo's that you might be bound to him somehow, and I'm still not certain exactly to what extent you are so bound. It appears to be a bond beyond obligation alone. I do fear that you may never know your own mind on the matter, that you may never be able to tell the difference between his feelings and your own with any certainty," Albus explained. He rose and took her hand, "I have to go attend to something, I'll return shortly with Minerva. I urge you to discuss this with her, she knows as much as I do about the matter."  
  
He left before she could say another word. Hermione was nearly beside herself in frustration. Her serene life had been shattered in a few short hours, and now she found herself in the dire position of mulling over this new information alone. She went out into the infirmary with a troubled mind. She needed to see him, talk to him, tell him she hadn't meant it, she wouldn't leave. That, in fact, she couldn't.  
  
Returning once more to Severus' room, Hermione paused to pick up an oversized teacup from the table next to his bed. It was handmade, and as she turned it in her hands, began to think of how she knew it. She sank stiffly into her usual armchair, lost in thought, while Madame Pomfrey bustled about setting up breakfast.  
  
Their friendship, and there had been friendship she realized, had  
begun so subtly that she wasn't quite sure how it started. Somewhere  
between the annoying bookworm she had been and the brave and  
intelligent young woman she was now, she had earned not only Snape's  
respect but also his trust. It began with their working together on  
small projects for the Order, he overheard her defend him to her  
friends, watched her begin to relax in his presence. She began to see  
more than sneers on his face, understand the secrets in his eyes took  
some terrible toll on him that she felt compelled to lessen, if she  
could. She started to realize that his self-imposed solitude was still  
lonely for him.  
  
She snuck in on his seclusion, small gestures and unwavering optimism  
finally breaking his sullen silences with tiny bursts of enjoyment.  
They had tea together now and then, during breaks from working  
together. She made a habit of discussing anything other than their  
work during this time. He finally relented and began returning her  
banter, hoping to steer the conversation into something other than her  
normal overly cheery small talk. He found her rather charming after a  
time, quick-witted and very loyal. She found his voice pleasant to  
listen to and his intellect a constant source of fascination for her.  
  
Logically minded wizards being rare, they found it a common thread on  
which to base many a pleasant conversation. She fancied Muggle puzzle  
books filled with all sorts of interesting diversions. When he showed  
an interest in them, she began to give him one or two for special  
occasions. Cheap newsprint books with glossy covers passed as gifts  
between them for birthdays and holidays for her last two years at  
school, each trying to outdo the other in finishing them faster.  
  
Her final year of school she was forced to spend the Christmas holiday  
at school. He was, therefore, not surprised to see a small package  
lying on his bed on Christmas morning with "Severus Snape" written on  
it in her tiny scrawl. He was surprised to find not puzzle books, but  
a large mug inside. It was glazed a deep green colour, and had a snake  
painted along the handle in sterling silver. The tail of the snake  
trailed onto the face of the cup itself to form a large 'SS' monogram.  
Turning the cup over, Snape found her signature set into the bottom,  
the initials H.G. straddling a crude Hogwarts' crest. He knew she had  
taken a ceramics class over summer holiday. He also remembered  
commenting how frustratingly small the teacups at Hogwarts were. Once.  
Months ago. This gift was so... thoughtful. Blasted girl, he was  
touched.  
  
Then he came back to himself and thought, 'touched is right, touched  
in the head. She must have made dozens of ridiculous things in that  
class and given them to everyone she ever knew.' She wouldn't have  
singled him out anymore than she'd grow a third arm overnight. By the  
time he entered the Great hall for dinner that afternoon, he was  
feeling quite himself again. He was then quite unprepared for her  
response to his curt, "Thank you for the mug, Miss Granger."  
  
She blanched, then flushed slightly, and looked at him with a very  
firm, 'what did you do THAT for,' look on her face. She glanced over  
her shoulder to see Harry Potter staring at her most quizzically.  
"You're welcome, Professor," was all she said as she nearly ran for  
her seat, trailing the boy in her wake, obviously whispering questions  
at her. Finally sitting at his plate he found a small bundle of puzzle  
books addressed to him. 'If she meant the mug as a secret, she might  
have mentioned it,' he had thought to himself. She refused to look at  
him for the remainder of the meal, and fled from the hall when he  
tried to rise from his seat. He never brought it up again.  
  
She in actual fact had not made anything else in ceramics class but  
oversized teacups, until she had gotten it exactly right. It had taken  
her quite some time to get the paint for the snake just so, and had  
agonized over how to get it to him without having to present it in  
front of the entire Christmas feast. All her careful planning wasted,  
she'd had to endure Harry's grilling for half the meal. When she  
wouldn't answer any of his questions, he thought it might be more fun  
to tease her. After she snapped at him for it, he decided it was a  
very good time to discuss Quidditch with one of the fourth years,  
leaving her to finish eating in silence. As she got up to leave, she  
got the panicked feeling that Snape was about to try to speak to her  
again, so ran for the door without a backward glance. She never  
brought it up again, either.  
  
"Seems to be important to him, that mug. Takes his morning tea in it everyday that I've seen. Pitches fits when the house elves try to wash it for him," Poppy said, a little sparkle in her eye. "Albus asked him once who had made it and he went perfectly sour over it. Nobody asked again. Well," she sighed, "I thought he might like it, in case he feels up to a cuppa."  
  
Hermione looked a bit wistful suddenly, so as she replaced the mug on the table, the older witch took her cue to go check if Albus had returned. That was how Poppy missed seeing her long-time patient wake up. 


	5. The Dreamer Awakens

The Dreamer...  
  
The dreams came frequently, a vivid rendition of his life playing over and over, daring him to find and repair the mistakes. Mistakes that he could watch, but never change. A life gone by, completely out of his reach and yet taunting him repeatedly much as they had done before his capture. Usually he could stand aloof, removed from the action but forced to watch as pieces of memories danced through his head. Classes in which he had taught the trio of friends, meetings of the Order where he caught glimpses of Her, and the endless mundane conversations they had shared played into him until he could recall every word at will.  
  
But one dream came more often than all the others. And in this dream he could never stand aside as callous observer. This dream set him firmly within the frame of the man he was then, forced to experience the emotions of those two fateful memories. Completely unable to look away, and in a strange way relishing the feel of those distant and agonizing recollections. Two beautiful summer afternoons shining across the despair...  
  
Walking slowly into Hogsmeade, he felt a bit like a man walking to his execution. While calmly scanning the streets he reflected on his decision. It had to be done. This was dangerous for her, and was dangerously close to becoming important to him. Now that she was no longer his student, they were no longer working together on anything for Potter and the Order; he had to take this opportunity to end it. That her small gift of friendship could cost her life was unacceptable.  
  
When he saw her, his musings ended. She was looking in a shop window, alone, in a flowing white summer dress and sandals that made her look nearly barefoot. Muggle clothes. She had her wild hair braided and piled atop her head. In her hands were several bags and a small parcel was tucked under one bare arm. For a moment he hesitated, watched her from afar. She was enchanting.  
  
He walked into the street as she looked up finally and saw him. She began to wave, stretching out her entire small frame in greeting. Her face was bathed in smiles and sunlight, without a hint of diffidence. She was genuinely happy to see him! He let the thought of that wash over him slowly. This vivacious young girl, pleased to the tips of her toes to see him.  
  
She had extended the hand of friendship slowly. Her company had been pleasant, a welcome diversion and mildly refreshing he had to admit. And he had rewarded this lovely gift by making her last two years of school as miserable as he had made the first five. And now this, the petite figure hurrying up the street to meet him. For the first time no longer his student but merely his friend. He was thankful of the distance still between them granting him time to hide his amusement. He felt suddenly... unworthy.  
  
"Professor, I'm so pleased to see you. Have time for lunch, then? My errands can wait, I have all afternoon. You look well, didn't overdo the end of year festivities then?" she called out, laughing through her questions. He had the horrible dread that she was about to embrace him.  
  
"Lunch sounds excellent, I haven't eaten yet today. Though it is supposed to be tomorrow, perhaps we could have our birthday meal today, as I will be away for most of the summer," he inquired of her, as they walked toward a small café. She agreed, and her eyes gleamed with delight while she chatted happily about finding the perfect gift for him. They had begun to celebrate their 'birthday', a shared date that was neither his nor her actual date of birth, shortly after they began exchanging books. They choose a date during the summer, when they might be working together but away from the questioning eyes of the school. He told himself that he was amusing her whimsy, but found himself looking forward to this lunch with an unfamiliar feeling. Was it... anticipation, happiness?  
  
They finished the meal in easy enjoyment of each other. Afterwards, she handed him a small parcel, apologizing for breaking the tradition and giving him a real gift. He found a small exquisitely bound leather journal. The pages were unbleached linen, and he ran his fingers over them slowly, his long fingers stroking the soft brown cover. It was beautiful. And made his gift seem less... improper. He handed her a tiny package, wrapped carefully in black velvet. She started slightly as a small jewellery case fell into her palm. She looked up at him suspiciously.  
  
"I assure you Miss Granger, it will not bite you. Open it," he snapped with sullen impatience. Inside was a small charm, a platinum disc set with a Celtic symbol. Geofu, the letter 'G', her monogram. It glinted slightly in the sun and a matching glint was creeping into her eyes. "It is the symbol for loyalty. It seemed... rather fitting," he told her.  
  
She was breathless. She took the small charm out and fingered it, debating whether to proclaim it too extravagant or surrender to fancy and put it on. And then a sudden darkness crossed her expression. Her eyes spat fire at him as she said, "this means goodbye, doesn't it? That is your intention. You made this for me, so you wouldn't have to explain." Her accusation was stunningly accurate. She possessed an intuition that bordered on the psychic and it unnerved him. He let his resolve paint its way across his face as answer, unwilling to speak lest it fail him. She slowly put the charm around her neck, rose, and left without a word. She never looked back.  
  
A year later, on Order business, he found himself watching the same white dress, the same sandaled feet, the same look of carefree enthusiasm dancing its way across the street in Diagon Alley. His business there was not carefree. It was dangerous, and it knew her face. He told himself that he followed her as protection. But a small part of him was glad to see her. He was resigned to his fate, but he would not damn hers.  
  
For an hour he wandered in murky corners and doorways to watch her shop. Slipping her small feet into pair after pair of shoes, tracing her fingers across the spines of books a look of concentration gracing her face as she searched. Finally he watched her disappear back through the hidden opening back into the Muggle world.  
  
But this time the dream changed. The girl in the flowing white dress dangled her legs from a tree branch, laughing down at him as a silver serpent wound its way down the trunk. The perfect picture of temptation, the dream-like quality slowly solidifying. Reaching out slowly he laid a long pale finger on the dress and felt the soft cotton under his touch. Startled he looked up and asked her, "is this real?"  
  
"No, Professor," she laughed. "But its time to wake up now..."  
  
~~~~@@@~~~~  
  
...Awakens.  
  
Severus Snape opened his eyes slowly, taking in the familiarity of the ceiling. He knew this place well. His body ached from atrophy, his mind swam and lurched, but he was whole and alive and home. The feeling that he was not alone began to prick at him, and slowly he turned his head to look in the chair near his bed.  
  
A young woman with raven hair and wide black eyes sat there, looking so much like someone he knew. It couldn't be Her, could it? "You?" he asked weakly. Struggling to sit up, he found he barely had enough strength to raise his head quizzically.  
  
"Yes, Severus, I'm still here," she choked out in her shock. Hermione could hardly believe her eyes, but her ears confirmed that he was indeed awake. She rose to take his hand, but he pulled it out of her reach.  
  
"Why are you addressing me in the familiar? And what on earth have you done to your hair?" he snapped. His confusion was quickly compounding. As she called for Poppy her face hardened and became unreadable. She was wearing a party dress and cape, and he noticed that she was barefoot. Looking to the window he saw the faint light of dawn, and her attire seemed entirely inappropriate. Before he could ask her about it, Madame Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore burst in.  
  
"Severus, my dear boy, finally decided to rejoin us, eh? Splendid," Albus said with obvious relief twinkling in his eyes. Poppy had tears in her eyes as she bent down to straighten his bedclothes. Before she had a chance to speak Albus continued, "I think you should lay still, or Poppy may try to tie you down, son. You know where you are, I trust?"  
  
"Yes sir, Hogwarts infirmary. Been here often enough, I should recognize it by now."  
  
"Of course, of course. So, do you remember how you got here?" Albus asked.  
  
"I recall being discovered, my fellow Death Eaters were most anxious to show me the error of turning traitor. I think I can spare you the details, present company considered," he answered flatly. "I would like to know why Miss Granger is present, and I admit to wondering about her current appearance. Poppy, honestly, stop fussing about me, woman," he jeered. She ignored him and continued 'fussing about'.  
  
"Why I'm present?" Hermione asked incredulously. She gaped at him, then turned a fierce eye on Albus. He took her arm and shook his head slightly. "I- I- I'm here because, I was concerned about you Professor Snape. We all were," she spat out. His proper name tasted like bitter ash in her mouth and the room had taken a sinister tilt of several degrees. Her limbs were numb and her body had gone cold. Before she collapsed Albus lowered her into the armchair.  
  
"Miss Granger was with you when you were rescued, Severus, and has hardly left your side since. Do you recall any of that?" he asked.  
  
Dumbledore's words triggered a memory, Hermione's pale body chained to the wall in his cell, bloody and filthy. "She was there," Severus said quietly, almost to himself. "Silent, They had done something to her voice, she couldn't speak."  
  
"She left her voice here, with me. A precaution, she had made it a habit when on dangerous missions," Poppy explained. Albus glared at her darkly, he hadn't known that Poppy helped her with that folly.  
  
"But you don't remember anything else from that encounter? Your conversations with Miss Granger? Or the spell?" Albus continued.  
  
"What spell? And I couldn't very well converse with her, she was mute. What exactly is going on here?" Severus demanded, beginning to panic slightly. He realized that he didn't actually remember much, and those bits and pieces he could recall were hazy. They all seemed to know something he felt certain was important. Minerva Mcgonagall joined the group at this point, adding to the small circle of concerned faces and making him feel even more like a small child on display.  
  
"Oh I can hardly believe it, you ARE awake. Hermione, why don't you look pleased?" Minerva asked. She took the young witch's hand and found it was shaking and clammy. "What did I miss, Albus? Nothing is wrong, is it?"  
  
"Minerva, could you take Miss Granger to her rooms to freshen up? I need a few minutes with our patient, alone." The headmaster also gestured to Poppy.  
  
Without answering him both older women escorted Hermione from the room, virtually holding her up. Once they had reached the outer infirmary Hermione cried out, "He doesn't remember. What do I do now?"  
  
Poppy quietly filled Minerva in on the scene she had missed. Hermione was oblivious; her whole body was trembling with weight of his rejection. As they got her into a hot bath, her head ached with the awareness that she had never once considered this possibility. Or any possibility in fact, she hadn't considered anything in all these weeks, simply sat in a chair and let life drift around her in a fog really.  
  
By the time she was clean, dry and dressed properly, the fog had completely lifted. Her mind cleared for the first time since her capture and it left her feeling very off-centre. Poppy had returned to the infirmary, but Minerva was seated on her bed. She looked around her room for what seemed like the first time, and it probably was the first time she really noticed it. It was a sparse bedroom, large four-poster bed draped in red curtains and bedclothes, her small trunk next to the small bedside table. Behind her was a door to her small private bath and a simple wood wardrobe. To her left the door to her sitting room stood open, to her right a fire burned brightly in the grate. There was no window.  
  
She stepped into the sitting room, as Minerva followed her silently. It was a long narrow room, to her left the door to the hallway with a small table and two plain chairs between it and her. The opposite end of the room had another, larger, fireplace with two very old and overstuffed wing chairs facing it. In front of her, effectively centred on the long wall, was a low bookcase full of her very own books. No paintings or tapestries, no other adornments of any kind in either room. Her few possessions besides her clothes were still in her trunk, untouched. Even her books had been laid out for her; she hadn't bothered about them in all this time.  
  
"I've been living in limbo, Minerva, haven't I? This whole time, like my nightly sleepwalking, no different while I was awake was I?" she sank into one of the armchairs. Minerva sat in the other and waved her wand to start the fire. She took a long breath before answering.  
  
"Hermione, child, you had been through a terrible ordeal. You still face one, no one faults you for keeping somewhat to yourself," she said. She took the opportunity to explain about what being a Compatior meant, and how she could help her study up on the subject. Hermione seemed grateful for the diversion. They remained deep in conversation until lunchtime, when Albus knocked at the door. 


End file.
